


And the Trees, They Whisper

by Deus_Ex



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Drinking to Cope, Gen, Listen to the whispers of the trees, Mirkwood, Or some hippie crap, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Running Away, garbage fic, i don't know what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:26:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3322328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deus_Ex/pseuds/Deus_Ex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, you forget where you came from, and you have to go back.  How long has it been since Thranduil freely walked these woods?</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Trees, They Whisper

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, I don't know what this is. It started out as a really great concept in my head, and I wrote, like, half of it last month and then never finished it, and it was bothering me that I didn't finish it, so I sat down today and finished it because random day off on account of my whole town getting iced over, which I'm fine with, but it's word vomit and I'm so sorry.

He had known what he had to do; he'd known since he gazed upon the face of the final warrior he placed into their grave not twenty-four hours ago. He'd lost himself to grief and wine, despairing over such senseless bloodshed and vowing no more. After sequestering himself in his chambers and denying any visitor regardless of intention, the Elvenking resorted to such unsightly measures of downing enough of the wine to get himself decently drunk and quietly sobbing his remorse into his pillows as he futilely grasped at sleep, the ever-elusive demon that stood a chance at granting him respite. At least sleep was dreamless; at least sleep was in his control. After he had expelled the last of his energy, too exhausted to hold himself together anymore, he collapsed into bitter slumber, lulled by his aching muscles and the sing of the alcohol in his veins. Waking up the next morning wasn't pretty, but he had purged himself of the last of his lapse in control and was therefore prepared to meet the day. The majority of his men were already packed, their mounts saddled, and everyone else up, armed, dressed, and ready to move out at a moment's notice. Those who were not were the healers who were still preparing the injured for the journey. Emerging from his tent after washing his face and schooling his features into their usual icy visage, he commanded a unit to stay behind with the healers and injured and assist them; the rest were to ride out under him. He spared the new kings of Erebor and Dale respectively hasty farewells and promises to return and spend proper time with them when the coronations were to be held. This excuse seemed to suffice, and Thranduil rode out on his mount shortly, turning his back on the cursed lands at the foot of the mountain and hoping never to see them again in his life.

He knew it wouldn't be so, he reminded himself sourly as his borrowed horse's hooves clopped against the packed soil. It was a lovely mare, a pristine white creature with a long, flowing mane and tale; she was hardy and strong, and oddly steady for a mare, but she still wasn't his beloved elk. It felt strange and foreign to ride such a small, sturdy, compact, balanced animal after riding a greater beast for so long. Thranduil found himself anticipating the awkward, up-and-down of his elk's gait as his horse moved into a smooth, fluid canter, and he had to bite back a flinch at just how smooth her movements were. He missed his elk; it had been buried with the rest of the fallen from that day. He had almost refused to take another mount, but understood the need for propriety. For a king to return to his land on foot after a battle was most unbecoming. So he had reluctantly accepted the lovely horse and swung into the saddle, and he bore her home kindly and ensured that, when their long journey was complete, that she was taken to the stables and well seen to.

He didn't stop at the palace. He didn't go to his bedroom, he didn't go to the throne room, he didn't even stop to catch up with Galion and let him know of his whereabouts and his intentions and his plans. In truth, he had no plans, save for the beginning. The moment he was out the back door of the stables, he had pulled his boots off and abandoned them just inside the door to await his return tucked neatly out of sight and had simply started walking. As much as he would have liked to exchange his robes for simpler ones, to leave his armor behind, to walk without a crown, he felt the urge to wander too strongly to dally, and he would not risk being ensnared by someone who was in need of his assistance or council-and there was always someone in need of his presence for something-by retreating to his chambers. There was no sense in risking it. At least he was armed, twin blades still swaying gently at his hips. That ought to assuage any worry in the hearts of his people. Besides, he doubted his movements would pass unnoticed. Not only were his forests full of his warriors, they were well in-tune with the forest itself and could ask the trees for his whereabouts if need be.

It took some time for him to walk far enough away from the stables to be clear of the noise of various animals milling about, their caretakers hustling back and forth and seeing to their every need. But every step took him farther and farther away from the noise, the movement, the distractions. It was like breathing in fresher air and opening his eyes after a long winter of sleeping in dark, closed, musty rooms: it felt like spring had come and allowed all of the windows open and the sunshine in again. Yes, there was the shadow of the deaths of only yesterday lingering over him: but at least now his head was clear. The forest was soothing, and after so long of living in its roots he had forgotten the beauty of its branches. The trees stood, tall and proud, with trunks wider than three men and taller than a hundred, their leaves sparkling and glittering emerald in the sun. The woods was lush and green, lending the light that filtered through a muted, green aura. Out here, the only noise was the sound of birds singing and animals scurrying through the underbrush; even his footsteps against the moist earth were silent.

He was a Sindar elf, and he had almost forgotten whence he came. He had been born of this world, the earth giving life and breath to his mother's body to bear him in the same manner. The earth sustained him and gifted him wondrous freedoms, giving and giving and giving to him. He, as the rest of his people, ought to be ever-grateful to the earth, for it was as much his mother as the woman who birthed him. Under the weight of his responsibilities, he had lost sight of that fact, and for that, he was truly ashamed and sorry. The woods had been calling him home the entire time, and it took this tragic calamity to make it scream loud enough that he could hear. The rush of blood through his veins, the roar of battle in his ears, the clang of steel and the thuds of bodies colliding and the screeches of the injured and the dying had all been drowned out by the ache in his chest that told him, _Something is missing! Come home!_ And this was home, Thranduil reminded himself, trailing his fingers over the bark of a tree and feeling the shiver of life within its stoic bark. The forest was his domain, yes, but he was much the king here as he was in the halls he had sung out of the roots of the forest itself. He would not be king in these lands if the forest did not allow it.

The whole of the woods seemed to feel more vibrant the farther in he walked. Several deer, grazing idly among the trees, ambled alongside him as he moved, drifting far from the beaten path now; a massive bird overhead glided easily above him, crying out once to him in greeting before flapping its wings and soaring up into the sky again. All manner of woodland creatures emerged and walked with him, coming out to greet him and moving through the little bushes and twigs and leaves and brush with practiced ease and then just as soon retreating to their homes in fallen logs and holes underground. Even the trees bent their branches and swished their leaves, whispering to each other that their king walked among them again. Thranduil normally would have shied from the attention, especially in the mood he was in. But today, it only felt wonderful to bask in the purity and simplicity of the forest once again. At last, he felt at home again, and truly at peace.

He did not think of the dead as he tilted his head back to observe the height of the great tree before him; he thought only of the living as he reached up and fastened his fingers around the rough texture of a thick branch low to the ground and pulled. Muscles overused previously now ached and groaned and grumbled and sighed in protest; bruises pinged and twinged, and his armor clanged and scraped. But he fought upwards, moving in elegant, sinuous motions that carried him ever higher. Reaching for the sun, climbing towards the sky, Thranduil's bare feet and hands kept in near-constant contact with the tree, and he knew it was helping him up as much as it could. Branches would seem closer than when he last looked at them; footholds and handholds appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Knots came and went; scars and snarls shifted and changed, giving him places to grip onto and use as leverage. And when at last he reached the top, he was smiling like he hadn't smiled in years, all of his care abandoned on the ground at the base of the tree, and the sun warm on his face and the tree's tender embrace around him. Right then and there, he needed nothing more than the deep inhale he drew to feel alive; his nose filled with the scent of the moist earth that stained his bare feet, the uneven bark that scraped his palms, the sweet moss that made his feet slide when he stepped on it covering a rock, even the musk of the wildlife that surrounded him. All he needed right then was the forest, and to simply breathe in and smell life.

The approach of one of his kin did not pass him by unnoticed. From the footfall patterns, speed, and stride, he could tell it was Galion almost as soon as he realized that someone approached. The other elf had always had a healthy respect both for the forest and for Thranduil's quirks and tendencies. He was his closest companion, despite technically being in a position of servitude, and he knew Thranduil better than perhaps Thranduil even knew himself. Nothing shocked the Elvenking about his arrival; he didn't even move or open his eyes as the bottom branches of the tree began to shiver and shake and rustle. Galion was announcing his presence, trying not to startle him and end up with a blade at his throat. Ah, he knew him entirely too well.

"There are those who ask about you."

They both waited until Galion has scaled the tree as Thranduil had to converse, although with a bit more difficulty. The branches did not bend and rise as they had for their king; the tree did not assist the Silvan elf climbing its trunk, but nor did it hinder him. Thranduil supposed it was the most kindness Galion would receive from the ancient Woodland forests. "The trees will answer those who bend their ear to listen," the blonde elf replied easily, with more certainty in his voice than surely he felt. "The King of these woods does not pass through it unnoticed."

"But without notice and without escort?" Galion gently reprimanded. He was the only person Thranduil would ever hear such boldness from, and it was the closest to a scolding he'd ever really get these days. "Are you even armed?"

"Decently."

A non-answer, in true Thranduil fashion-though his eyes were closed, the Elvenking could just picture the withering glare his trusted servant would be leveling him, another soft and yielding pseudo-scold for his troubles. Ah, he tried, he really did: but Galion could no longer sway the king as he used to.

The silence fell between them, comfortable despite the lingering tension on Galion's end. Thranduil tried not to hold it against him. The man was someone he trusted with everything of his life, from getting his schedule together to seeing that his armor and weapons remained in battle-ready condition. He confided in him and could spend hours in conversation with him; there was nothing he would ever withhold from him. A relationship such as that could not go without developing for so many years, and if Thranduil had ordered Galion to remain behind when they all marched on the mountain, well, he could claim it was for convenience as much as he wanted, but they both knew on some level it was because he didn't want to lose the other elf. And Galion could raise equal protest that he only came after Thranduil to persuade him to come down from the tree and be a king again, but likewise they were both aware that he came out of a concern for his well-being. It wouldn't do to forsake propriety and expose himself to such weakness, but...Thranduil did consider Galion a friend.

"It has been a long time since I saw these woods so deep."

If Galion had been watching more closely, perhaps he would have seen the tiniest of smiles that twitched at the corners of Thranduil's lips at his words. Even the Ice King could be melted slightly from time to time. "Far too long," Thranduil acquiesced, finally opening his eyes again as Galion's weight sank into a branch next to him. The limb was strong, sturdy, and grew directly from the tree's trunk, allowing Galion to sit with his back resting against it as Thranduil did. The other elf respectfully took his time getting comfortable against the bark and wood; the tree remained silent and passive, which was as close to approval as he would get from a tree.

"Is that why you're here, then?"

This got a minuscule snort of an exhale that could have been laughter, and Galion had to struggle not to flinch back in surprise. "It is indeed," Thranduil confirmed, realizing that he ought not be surprised at how well Galion knew him. "The days in which I walked my lands free to speak to the trees and the animals, the hours I spent with the cool earth under my bare feet and the warm sun coming through the trees on my face, the tranquility that can be found in true silence soaking into my bones...long have I remained stoic to these lands which have given me life. No longer. It is time I once again knew the land as it knows me."

Galion could not argue with the words. With the approaching threats of evil and malice rising in Dol Goldur, the spiders swarming their borders, the orcs becoming bolder in their attacks, and the dwarves awakening the dragon in the mountain, Thranduil had had his hands full for the last few years just trying to keep his forests intact. The slaying of the dragon surely had to be a huge relief for Thranduil, even if the looming shadow of war still swelled on the horizon. If it gave Thranduil the smallest window of time in which to take a deep breath and regroup, Galion would regard almost anything as a blessing.

"How much of an uproar is everyone in?"

If Galion hesitated for a moment, slightly taken aback, Thranduil did not say anything or even acknowledge it. "Not so much an uproar as a hushed whisper passing through the crowds...but the people are concerned."

Another minute snicker of mirth; then, "I haven't caused such a stir since I was a boy."

"Yes, I had to chase you out of this very tree. Your father was none too pleased."

"I seem to recall him threatening to have my rear end spanked if I did it again. In the end, he settled for confiscating my bow for a week."

"He was upset, certainly. No more than a child, and wandering off unattended and unescorted into the forests without so much as a word! And I believe the pleasure of delivering your punishment fell to me."

"I kept your hands full, didn't I?"

"You got into trouble more often than not, and you didn't suffer the consequences gladly."

"At least that's one area in which I've made improvements."

"We're still sitting here, are we not?"

"Well...old habits die hard."

Galion dissolved into laughter at this grudging admission, and the last scraps of tension in the air faded away with no more than a breathy sigh to betray that they had ever existed at all. Thranduil had long since learned that these changes did not come with pomp and ceremony and fanfare of epiphany as most people wished they would; rather, they came and went like the passage of time, gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night so that none ever noticed its departure. The quiet was far more comfortable now, as even the trees finally seemed to be at ease and fully accepting of Galion's presence.

"You're not going back soon, are you?"

With a soft, tired, but content smile, Thranduil replied, "No," the word slow and drawn-out, bogged down as it was by the sluggish weight of contentedness.

"You would have even more whispers circulating?"

"It is of little consequence what they say. In the end, I am their king, and they can disguise their intentions as worry, but I know differently. They wonder how I will answer the threat of war on the horizon, how I will respond to the evil on our doorstep that creeps closer every day, and how I will handle the departure of my son, the only family I have left, and the only successor I have to the throne. The only way I will assuage their misgivings is through action." Pausing to lean forward, round his shoulders, and shift a bit, Thranduil let a leg casually drop over the side of the thick branch to dangle down towards the ground. The height from here was dizzying, but that was why he did not look down. "Action will be taken tomorrow, though. This...we all need this." His words ceased to flow again as he turned to Galion, looking him in the eyes for the first time since he had arrived. "Surely you would not begrudge me this, the simplest of pleasures?"

"No," Galion replied, almost immediately. "I think it's good for you to remember how to cause a stir every now and again. It makes you...well, I shouldn't say human, but..."

"Point taken."

Galion only interrupted the peacefulness one more time-he simply asked, "May I have you return when the sun sets?"

"That is fair."

And somehow, the hours that passed then were still not enough.

 

 

"Forests, lakes, and rivers, clouds and winds, stars and flowers, stupendous glaciers and crystal snowflakes - every form of animate or inanimate existence, leaves its impress upon the soul of man."  
-Orison Swett Marden

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it through this clusterfuck of a fic, have a cookie. I'll try to write something that's not crap in the near future. @_@


End file.
